


Chaud

by nerdypipsqueak



Series: Fictober 2019 [26]
Category: Lawrence of Arabia (1962), RPF - Fandom
Genre: Conversations, Dialogue Heavy, Drabble, Fictober 2019, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 07:18:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21222722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdypipsqueak/pseuds/nerdypipsqueak
Summary: Fictober prompt: You keep me warm.I wasn't expecting to do it but here it is: a follow-up to "Sous La Lune".





	Chaud

"...she looks me up and down, it's obvious she's not impressed. She's the mayor's wife, you see. Why on earth should she be forced to breathe the same air as a common aircraftman?! So she gives me a look of utter contempt, then turns to Mrs Hardy and goes: pourquoi il est ici, ce soldat vulgaire?"

"She didn't!" I say, mockingly aghast. 

We're sitting on the floor at the foot of Ned's bed, leaning sideways against it, our arms, my left and his right, propped on the mattress, our fingertips brushing.

"Yes, she did." Ned continues, eyes sparkling with amusement. "Only she wasn't aware that Mrs Hardy can't speak French."

"So what did you do?"

"I offered my services as an interpreter like a proper gentleman would." He laughs. His hand slips into my mine and the laughter is cut short. He looks down at our loosely clasped hands, then up at me.

"Should I move?" I ask.

"Your hand is warm. I like that."

"So is yours." I run my thumb along the bumpy line of his knuckles.

"I... I wish I could have had this with you last time we met." He smiles wistfully. 

For a while we just sit, side by side, hand in hand, watching the fire slowly dying in the hearth.

A sudden shiver runs through Ned's body. He tries to suppress it, to still himself but I've already noticed. 

"Are you cold?" I ask, immediately concerned. "Should I go get more firewood?"

"No, it's fine, the fire can wait." Ned tentatively raises a hand towards my face. "May I?"

"Yes, of course. Anything you want."

He touches me with warm fingertips, first my jawline, then my cheek, stroking upwards, reaching my temple, finally sinking his fingers into my hair.

"You are so very warm." Ned whispers almost reverently. "Just like I imagined you would be. Every night I lay awake thinking about your hands, the way they felt on my skin, the feel of your lips on my forehead. I'd imagine your arms around me, making me feel safe and warm." 

"Would you like me to hold you now?"

He doesn't reply, instead he curls up against me, his head coming to rest on my shoulder and I wrap my arms around him. He sighs contentedly and I can't help but smile.

The fire in the hearth is little more than embers.

"I should really go get more firewood." I murmur into Ned's hair.

"Not yet. You're so warm... you're keeping me warm. And this is so good."

"Later then." I tighten my hold on him.

_I will keep you warm._

**Author's Note:**

> pourquoi il est ici, ce soldat vulgaire? - why is this common soldier here?  
Please forgive me, my French is very rusty. Please do let me know if the line needs correcting!  
The incident Lawrence talks about at the very beginning of the story actually happened. He was invited to have tea with Thomas and Florence Hardy. The other guest was the mayoress of Dorchester who happened to be a terrible snob. She wasn't impressed by Lawrence's plain RAF uniform and made a comment in French to Florence Hardy saying that she'd never been forced to have tea with a common soldier before. At that point silence fell and Lawrence (in perfect French) told the mayoress that unfortunately Mrs Hardy did not speak French but he would be happy to translate.


End file.
